


The Language That Lives Between Words (Il Linguaggio Che Vive Fra Le Parole)

by titania522



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Christmas fic, Drama, Gen, Holiday Fic Exchange, Italiano | Italian, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:16:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Prompt based around the Colin Firth story line in the film 'Love Actually'.<br/>Peeta and Katniss don't speak the same language. They find other ways to communicate, slowly falling for one another as they spend more time with each other.</p>
<p>Also submitted for In a Rather Festive Arena: The Holiday Games (Competition).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Consapevolezza (Awareness)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prisspanem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisspanem/gifts).



> All Italian words and phrases are translated in italics unless the context clearly conveys the meaning.

_**Love has mute words, more transparent than the river.** _

**_\- Isabele Allende, The Island Beneath the Sea_**

 

“Damn.  I’m going to be late.” He huffed as he dug the respectable Burberry tie that Delly had given him last Christmas out of the back of the closet.  He hated jackets and ties – he had no use for them except for weddings and funerals.  Luckily, he was enduring the noose of silky death for the sake of his good friend, Thresh, and his marriage to his long-time girlfriend, Rue.

“Peeta Mellark!  It’s only around the corner.  If you leave now, you’ll be in plenty of time.”

Delly sniffled dramatically after every third syllable.  She was right of course.  Saint Anthony’s was just a brisk walk around the city block from them.  Living in Soho provided distinct advantages, which included being a stone’s throw away from one of the most coveted wedding locales in the City.  Delly had gone to great lengths to buy the perfect Prada outfit for today’s nuptials in part because of its revered location, only to be derailed by the sudden onset of a vicious flu.  Her button-nose was red with being rubbed by tissues, her soft blue eyes droopy and watery. When she woke that morning to tell Peeta she would have to sit out the wedding, she had been appropriately devastated and even burst into tears.  “I’ll have to wait until at least New Year’s Eve to wear that dress now!”  Peeta had dutifully comforted her, reminding her over and over of how absolutely beautiful she was, runny nose and all.

“I’m horrible to look at but _you_ are positively dashing…” she smiled her most lascivious grin from where she watched him dress.  Stretched out on the bed in only a tank top and tiny shorts, her thick, blond curls mussed into a just-fucked mess on her head, he resisted the urge to cancel his own appearance and fulfill the promise in her lustful gaze, flu be damned.  As it was, he tore his eyes away from the round, firm breasts straining against the thin cotton of her tank and clumsily knotted his neck-tie.  He was chagrined to catch a smudge of oil paint on his wrist and debated whether to try to remove the spot or not.  One glance at the mantle clock cured him of his fastidiousness – everyone knew he was an artist, a successful commission and public works artist at that - so it stood to reason that he would sometimes appear in public functions with the tell-tale marks of his profession.

Grabbing his scarf, he paused before the bed and gently put his hands on each side of Delly’s face.

“Say the word, and I’ll stay.  This is your absolute last chance.”  He whispered before giving her a kiss that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“If you don’t leave now, you really will miss the ceremony!”  She said with vehemence.  “I’ll be here when you get back…”

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he said.

“At least 12 times in the last hour.  Now go!” she said with playful impatience.

Peeta practically sprinted out the bedroom, returning not two seconds later.  “You know I love you, right?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Peeta!   Are you going to show up in time for their first born?”  she laughed.

“Okay, fine.  I’m leaving.  Call me if you need anything.” He tossed out before carefully locking the door of his brownstone apartment.

 

**XXXXX**

 

Peeta managed to find a good seat in a pew towards the middle, which meant he wouldn’t have to squint to see the bride and groom. Thresh Peterson greeted him with the air of polite distractedness that people often have when they are so nervous, they rely on their automated responses to survive.  After mingling for several minutes, the ceremony got underway.  Thresh’s best man, Finnick Odair, was straightening his tie, clearly trying to keep a fidgeting groom from leaping out of his very expensive suit.  And yet, when all heads turned towards the petite bride, the groom went utterly and completely still, as if all his vexation had melted into the catacombs of the old church.  Rue Desir, the future Mrs. Peterson, was a vision and Peeta felt himself getting almost teary-eyed at the naked admiration on Thresh’s face for the radiant beauty of his bride.

As he watched, Peeta could not help but wonder what Delly would look like in a dress of soft lace and pearls like that of Rue’s.  They’d been together for two years and his mother, in particular, was fond of pointing out that no one was getting younger and it would be of great satisfaction to his _poor widowed mother_ to see his grandchildren underfoot.  He certainly loved Delly and she complimented his personality well.  She was a trade advisor to Merryll Lynch and advancing in her career.  And she was a demon in the sack.  Peeta’s mind drifted from the ceremony to her naked body beneath him, her insatiable appetite.  The last time she found him shirtless in his loft, working on a canvass, she’d left him walking crooked for two days.  He chuckled to himself.  He could give mom the wedding but he would hold off on the baby-making for now.

When the ceremony ended, he was prepared to wait patiently for his turn to congratulate the couple when Finnick grabbed his arm and tugged him off to the side.

“Hey, doc!” Peeta laughed.  “Now I lost my place in line.

“You’re with the best man!   We’ll just skip the que.”  Finnick’s smiled his bright, Irish smile and it suddenly seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world. “Anyway, where’s Delly?”

“Ah, you know, she got the flu and had to miss the ceremony.  She was damned sorry to have to sit this one out.

“Bullocks.  Sorry, mate.  She’s a sickly one, that Delly.  Missed the Guy Fawkes Party last month, too, didn’t she?  You should give her my grandmother’s vitamin brew.  I haven’t gotten sick in 8 years.” He laughed.

“Yeah, I know Nanna Odair’s cooking.  Man, I’m still convinced her ‘secret ingredient’ is anti-freeze.

They laughed heartily at Nanna’s famously bad cooking, “Put hair on your chest too, it will!”  Finnick suddenly became nervous. “You know, all these weddings, our school mates tying the noose of matrimony, yoking themselves to the women of their lives…”  He glanced over at Annie Cresta, who was standing near Rue, her shiny auburn hair positively resplendent against the periwinkle bridesmaid’s dress.

“Like farm mules, Finn.  I get it.”

“Right.” He dropped his voice and leaned into Peeta. “Well, I picked up a ring for Annie this week.” Finnick couldn’t bring himself to look into his friend’s deep blue eyes and it endeared him to Peeta all over again that his loud, boisterous friend was suddenly shy and insecure.

“What did you say? Are you going to ask her to marry you? ” Exclaimed Peeta, grabbing Finnick and giving him a sincere hug as he slapped his back.   He’d known Finnick since his days at NYU, when he was just a recent émigré and medical student from Ireland, his father a surgeon at the University Medical Center.  He also knew that Annie, a 2nd generation Irish girl from Brooklyn, daughter of a fish seller down at the pier, was the only girl he’d ever loved.  Peeta knew it when the scholarship kid showed up every day to their Human Anthropology class smelling like fish and seaweed and Finn sat right next to her when everyone else gave her wide berth.  When the other girls from good families and expensive prep schools twittered cattily about it,   Finnick famously stood on a table in the student center and cried out “Have you ever known a pearl not to smell like the sea, ye daft cows?” effectively  earning Annie’s unwavering affection and Peeta’s admiration ever since.

“Well played, you crazy beast!  Annie’s a great girl.” Peeta smiled sincerely.

“The best of the lot, I’ll tell you.  That girl’s given me her whole heart and I aim to keep it safe.  And we aren’t having one of these reserved little weddings like my Moorish friend over there.” He tossed his head in Thresh’s direction, using the nickname that he’d had ever since performing _Othello_ at the 92nd Street Y during his graduate studies. “No, we’re going to have 90 bridesmaids and groomsmen.  The Queen Mother herself will be shamed by it!”  Peeta shook his head, laughing at his friend.  “You and Delly will be part of the troop, won’t you?”

“You can count on it, Finn.  Delly and I would be honored to be in the wedding party.  Whose idea was it anyway to have such a large retinue?" I teased, knowing full well that Annie was far too humble to accept such a plan.  

“Well, mine.  I haven’t asked Annie yet.  I’m doing it tonight after the reception.”  His fidgeting became almost distracting at this point.

“I have no doubt she’ll say yes.  You’ve been living together for years already.”  Peeta had a sudden inspiration. “I know exactly what your wedding gift will be also.   I’ve got to go tell Delly the news.  I wanted to check in on her anyway before going to the reception.”  At that, Finnick walked him over to Thresh and Rue.  She’d been crying and Annie was straightening out her make-up as best she could.  Peeta hugged his friend and his new bride, his own heart lurching at the idea that sometime next year, this could be him playing the sentimental sod with Delly at the church’s door.

“I’m just popping over to check on Delly.  I’ll meet you at the Alger House in about thirty minutes?” he called out to Finnick and Annie.

“Sure thing, Peet!” he waved as Annie pulled him along towards the photographer.

There was a bounce in Peeta’s step as he whistled along the city street, pausing to buy a carnation from old Sammy’s flower cart.  Delly preferred roses and orchids but he loved old Sammy and sometimes, he just needed to bring her something to mark the fact that he’d been thinking about her the whole day. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, thinking of Delly in a white dress, imagining himself tearing the garter from her leg with his teeth.  He was so caught up with his randy day dream he didn’t hear the noises until it was too late, even when he tripped over the clothes that lay strewn along the corridor.  Peeta paused, his heart pounding, every kind of scenario going through his head but the one he eventually found, the image of his naked brother, Rye, behind his equally compromised future bride-to-be, who was on all fours, mewling like a rabid cat.   _His_ brother, in _his_ bed, in _his_ house with _his_ girl.  Crushing the red carnation in his fist, his first instinct was to grab each of them by the hair and shove both of their heads into the spaces of the wrought-iron head board.

Instead, Peeta fled into the bathroom, the sound of his retching mixed with the screams behind him; the fetid sounds of his life falling apart.


	2. Apprendimento (Learning)

Winters in Marseille were no better than the City.  Though the sea wind blew away the dark rain clouds from the Alps into the Cote d’Azur, that same wind could penetrate into the very marrow of a man’s bones and set his teeth to violent chattering.  Peeta loved the Mediterranean on any coast, even in the winter.  However, he would never have made the journey here at this time of the year.  It was the end of September after all, the very month before Thanksgiving.   He was positively religious about spending it with his family.

Except this year.

That awful day, after Peeta had emptied even the bile from his stomach, he returned to a hysterical Delly who was decidedly more animated than when he left her that morning, having shed the sudden flu and replaced it with the sickening fever of remorse.  He fought his way through the apologies, the flamboyant tears, his brother’s ‘look-Peet-it’s-not-what-you-think’ – as if suddenly having your cock in a woman’s ass could incontrovertibly be confused with knitting or watching “Duck Dynasty” – and raced towards the door where on the other side was a world where brothers did not bang their sibling’s girlfriends.  At the entry way, he turned back to a now half-dressed Delly, whose just-fucked hair really had just been fucked, and his brother pacing back and forth, running his hands nervously over his face.

He composed his voice long enough to say “Rye, when I come back, I want you gone.  And take _her_ with you.”  He swept his arm to indicate the entire apartment. “Everything.” Peeta looked down to hide the tears that would render his humiliation complete.  “I’m tossing whatever she leaves behind.”

“Peeta, please!  I’m so sorry!” wailed Delly.  “Let me explain!”

He shook his head at her and launched himself through the door, mindlessly hurtling down the pavement, his feet carrying him anywhere that was not his apartment.  His mind replayed the scene over and over and like a bystander at a bad car accident, he was unable to tear himself away from the look of utter ecstasy on her face, the fierce determination with which Rye gripped her hips and drove into her.  His heart was ready to shatter and he soon found himself in Washington Square Park, not having remembered how he’d managed to cross the streets without getting himself run over.  His desperation was interrupted by the incessant ringing of his cell phone.  Looking down, it was Delly’s face and number that appeared on the screen, filling him with such a toxic mix of hatred, longing, jealousy and rage that he slammed the phone against the ground, startling the pigeons as they sought to escape the shards of Chinese plastic that exploded at the base of the fountain.

 

**XXXXX**

 

He’d considered calling Finnick to crash on his couch but remembered the happy occasion that would follow the reception - Finn’s proposal and Annie’s most certain acceptance - and opted instead to rent a hotel room in the West Village.  He had removed every stitch of clothing, sinking into hot water and stared at the tiles of the Roman style bath.  He lay in that catatonic state until the sun had long since set and his toes were so wrinkled, they seemed to have shriveled to half their size, not unlike his heart, which had been crumpled like so much paper until he was sure he would never know happiness again.

Before quitting the hotel room or better yet, the hotel bed where he had spent most of the following days, he looked at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the dull, unwashed blond hair and gaunt face; sagging bags around eyes still so blue, he never failed to startle new acquaintances with their brilliance.  It was him and yet not and for the umpteenth time, he did not stop the tears from sliding down his puffy cheeks, letting them splash like so many liquid diamonds on the granite bathroom top.  When he’d had enough of self-pity, he’d gone on the hotel computer and booked himself the first ticket to Marseilles through Paris.

That night he knew he couldn’t leave without knowing the full, ugly truth.  He dialed the number from his apartment, his stomach in sickening knots.  When his brother answered, there was no preamble.

“How long?” asked Peeta in a remarkably steady voice.

“Peeta…” responded Rye.

“How long were you fucking her?” he insisted.

He took a deep breath. “New Year’s Eve.”

“A year?  You’ve been having an affair with Delly for a year?”

“No, not an affair.  Just, you know, sex.  She still loves you.”

He laughed at his brother, a miserable laugh that sounded maniacal even to his own ears.  “Not an affair?   Just sex? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Peeta, I’m…man…I’m sorry…Things got out of control and next thing we knew…”

“Tell mom I won’t be home for Thanksgiving.” Peeta interrupted.

Rye paused.  “Wha-…dude, you can’t bail on Thanksgiving.  Mom’s gonna have a fit!”

Peeta almost cursed his mother – her incessant coddling and subsidizing of Rye’s idle lifestyle had created the Rye that had ripped his life apart – and instead opted for something more civil.  “Give her any excuse you want.  You’re good at deception. Figure it out.”

At that Peeta slammed down the phone and stared at it for a long while before turning to pack his things.  He wanted to get to the airport as soon as possible, even if he had to sleep in the terminal because he knew he would have no peace in his apartment that night.

 

**XXXXX**

 

The next day, he was on direct flight from Newark International to Charles De Gaulle, an uneventful journey punctuated by the occasional burst of discomfort from one child or another and the momentary nausea from the turbulence over Newfoundland.  Peeta hadn’t eaten in forever and the airplane’s movements did little to improve his appetite so that the moment he landed, he headed to the first café and ordered two buttery croissants and a steaming cup of café au lait that he loved so much.  Sleep finally caught up to him on the short jaunt from Paris to Marseille, where he then rented a car for the last leg of his journey.  He was thankful that he was finally too tired to think of those horrible images that replayed in his mind over and over, mocking him in his misery.

Peeta’s first reaction upon seeing the closed up cottage was to mentally kick himself.  He should have contacted Madame Trinket before leaving the city to make sure she would prepare the house for him.  As it was, all the rooms were shut up and the chill from the wind outside seemed to have penetrated every crevice of the house.  Going to the phone in the study, he looked out at the Etang de Berre, a large lake upon which the village, Bouches-du-Rhone and his tiny cottage were nestled.  The lake itself connected to the Mediterranean through the town of Martigues, not 20 kilometers from his home.  It was considered one of the most exquisite, best kept secrets on the Cotes d’ Azur.  When Peeta’s father died, he bequeathed a trust to each of his sons but to Peeta, he had given this cottage, knowing that, of his three sons, it would be his youngest to truly appreciate the rare beauty of the place.  Peeta breathed in the musky scent of sea air mixed with marshy vegetation and already felt his artist’s soul expanding.  For the first time in days, he thought he might actually be able to live beyond this catastrophe.

The shrill, thickly accented voice of Madame Trinket pierced the telephone line through to his eardrum, a voice that ensured she would be there within the hour with her very best housekeeper.  Peeta busied himself with turning on the heat and sorting the sketching supplies in his study.  He willed his mind not to fly to Delly and Rye and was sufficiently successful at immersing himself in his trivialities that when the gravel of the driveway crunched beneath the wheels of a car, he was startled to see that almost two hours had passed away.  The figure of a rather cheaply flamboyant Madame Trinket unfolding herself from the rusty beige Citroen was something that never failed to humor him, a sentiment for which he was infinitely grateful as it further served to lighten his overall melancholic mood.

He hurried to the door to welcome her into the house but Madame Trinket merely hovered at the entrance.

“Monsieur Mellark, it is surprise to seeing you again!  We wait for you in springtime!” she fluttered happily, her garish red lipstick having stained her two front teeth, giving her the aspect of a vampire.  Her thick French accent caused her jaw to roll strangely and the overall effect was that of a marionette that had swung too long on its strings, making her movements not unlike those of a bobble-head on a car dash.

“I will introducing you to housekeeper.”  She motioned to a petite woman that he had not noticed before.  Peeta was reserved in manners though gregarious by nature but the dark woman before him defied him on both counts.  He could not help but stare dumbly at the large, wide-set grey eyes and the contrast they created against the olive skin that glowed defiantly against the chilly day.  Her almost black hair was braided over one shoulder, covered in a rather shabby pea coat, her strong, shapely legs peeking out from under the hem of a grey work dress. His tongue suddenly felt like lead wrapped in cotton and he mentally scolded himself for forgetting his manners.

But it was the set of her jaw, imperious despite her physical stature that intimidated him the most. The lines of her face were almost too angular but for the rounded chin and soft, sensuous lips that he could imagine would stop hearts when they curled into either a smile or a sneer.  She had the studied air of impassivity and yet her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips in nervous appreciation; it was the only crack in the cloak of her composure.  Despite forgetting himself, Peeta felt an electric jolt that after only ten seconds, he might have made an impression on her that was equal to the one she had made on him.  He shook his head at this - the last thing he needed was to be attracted to anyone, given what he'd just gone through.

“This is Katniss.  She is seasonal housekeeper.”  chirped Madame Trinket.

Peeta cleared his throat nervously as he turned towards Katniss. “Enchanté de faire votre connaissance.”  He attempted a smile that felt like a grimace.  But instead of a return greeting, she tilted her head quizzically.

“No, Monsieur Mellark!” clapped Madame Trinket.  “She is no French. She speak only Italian.”

He knew of these situations in which girls from the poorer towns of Italy or Spain came to the Cote’ d’Azur to make extra money for their families back home, the wages for 3-6 months abroad worth as much as a year at home if they were lucky to find work at all.

“Oh, okay.  Well…Buongiorno Principessa!” he said proudly, uttering the only Italian phrase he knew.  Katniss’ wonderful eyes grew wide and she tried to stifle a grin behind her hand.  Madame Trinket was less forgiving and chortled without care for his increasing embarrassment.

“No Principessa! Only housekeeper!”  She continued to laugh at his discomfort while Katniss turned her face away, a blush having crept up over her neck and onto her cheeks.

“She come every day but only half-day Wednesday and Saturday and she have free day Sunday. Oh, and if is no problem, you take her home in afternoon?”

“Ah, of course I can.”

“Good!” Madame Trinket turned to take her leave when Peeta stopped her, partly to satisfy a curiosity and partly to delay the moment when he would be alone with Katniss.  “Her name doesn’t strike me as Italian…”

“I don’t know, Monsieur!  Why you don’t ask her?” she laughed heartily and walked to the car, waving her hand delicately before taking off.

Peeta deflated a little bit, then turned to see Katniss appraising him quietly.

“Well, I’ll show you about the house.” He said, to which he received no response.   _How was he going to do this?_

It turned out that Katniss needed very little direction. Once she removed her coat, she set about quietly tidying the house, opening windows and removing the accumulated dust that collected while the house was shut up.  Peeta retired to his study to set about working on his sketches, having received a very important commission for a mural in an important district courthouse in New Jersey.  He focused his attention not on the enigmatic woman moving just a few feet outside his door, not at the shambles of his life across the Atlantic, but instead on the lake that stretched out from the foot of the dock like an opportunity waiting to be taken.

 

**XXXXX**

 

After a few days of dutiful work, Peeta spoke to Katniss for the first time when she tapped his shoulder lightly, waking him from an afternoon nap.  The jet lag still wreaked havoc on his sleep habits and he tended to doze off at all hours of the day.  He rubbed his hands over his face to wipe the traces of sleep away and looked up to see those eyes that proved the end of all reasoning for him.  They muddled his thinking, causing his thoughts to melt together.  She had brought a small teapot and cup, setting it carefully on his desk, looking at him in expectation as she poured the hot water, completely oblivious to her effect on him.

“Zucchero?” she asked, indicating the small bowl with sugar.

“No, thank you.” Peeta answered quietly, watching her arms stretch from under the dress to set down the sugar pot.  It was one word, but the sound of it was like rich, warm honey.  Against his better judgement, he suddenly longed to hear her speak.

“Will you have tea?” he asked, indicating the tea service and pointing at her.

She looked at him quietly, struggling with something before she walked quietly to the kitchen to bring back another cup.  She carefully prepared her tea with a spoon of sugar and sat down in the chair closest to his.  They sat for several moments, sipping their tea in tense silence.  Peeta wracked his brain – he knew how to make conversation!  Even with the language barrier, they could communicate.  He became impatient with himself and searched the room for a solution when his eyes fell on a globe sitting in the corner.  He got up suddenly, feeling Katniss’ eyes on his back as he picked it up and set it on the table between them.

He spun the blue ball slowly until he got to the land mass that indicated the United States.  Pointing to Manhattan Island, he looked at her and said “I’m from here.  New York.”

She set her cup down and moved close to him to see where he was point.  “Gli Stati Uniti? Si, New York.” She whispered, the name “New York” sounding delicious on her accented lips.

Peeta nodded happily.  “Yes, New York City.  My home.” He pointed at himself before spinning the globe until he reached the signature boot of the Italian peninsula.  Pointing at her, he asked “How about you?  Where are you from?”

She looked carefully before pointing at a large island near the toe of the boot.  “Qui.  Io provengo dalla Sicilia. Capisci?”  She looked at him to see if he had understood.

“Yes, you are from Sicily.  Okay.  Good.” They lapsed into quiet silence but he longed to take up listening to her voice again.  He tried again.  “Katniss.” He said.  He pointed to the globe.  “Not Italian?” She looked at him confused.  “Katniss.” He repeated.  “The name Katniss is not Italian.” He tried but her confusion seemed to increase.

He pointed at himself.  “My mother, eh, mamma?  My mamma is originally” here he waved his hand behind him, hoping she understood. “My mamma’s family is from Holland.” He pointed at the map.  “Mellark is Dutch.” He said quietly, pointed again at the map.

Here, Katniss face broke into a smile that scooped his heart right out of his chest.  The angles of her face melted away and what emerged was a piece of the sun.  She dragged her finger up the map and pointed to Germany.   “La mia mamma e’ Tedesca” She pointed at Germany again.  “Mamma. Tedesca.”

“Katniss. Your name is German then?”  Her face crumpled a bit at not understanding.  He smiled at her again.  “You are part German, I bet.  That explains your name.” He looked at her again with the new information. “Your papa is Sicilian.  I bet you look like your father.” He rambled happily.

She seemed captivated by his words and responded in a more subdued manner, “Mamma e’ Tedesca e papa’ era Siciliano.  Pero papa’ non c’e piu. _< Mother is German and Father was Sicilian.>_” She shook her head at this.  Peeta tried to understand, at a loss for her sudden sadness.   “No papa?” he probed.

She shook her head quietly, looking sideways towards the globe.  “E’ morto in un incidente di lavoro due anni fa. < _My father died in an accident at work two years ago_. >”  She made the motion as if she was hammering, than mimed something large falling on her.  She became very still, the angles returning to her face.  Peeta felt her sadness acutely and took her hand gently, a tiny tremor passing through her as she allowed her hand to be taken

“My _papa'_ is no longer here either.  He died a few years ago.  No papa’.” He pointed to himself, enunciating the last words, pronouncing “papa’ as she would.

Her eyes widened in understanding.  “Mi dispiace.” She whispered in a tone of apology, putting a small hand over the one that held hers.  “Mi dispiace tanto.”

They stood in the afternoon sun, reveling in the warmth of their hands and their mutual understanding.  Peeta wanted to stay with her in this moment forever, the setting sun casting its golden light into her work-tousled hair, illuminating the flecks of her silver-grey eyes.  She studied his face with unabashed curiosity, the moment melting into the dying afternoon until she whispered with a kind of breathlessness “Che belli occhi blu che c’hai.”

He only understood “belli” and “blu” and smiled at what he presumed was a comment on his eyes.  The sun dropping behind the horizon ended the magic. She released his hand and gathered up her things, waiting quietly for him to drive her home.  They did not need to speak.  Enough had been said and the silence between them was pregnant with secret understandings.  Peeta was ashamed of himself but he knew he would wait foolishly for the sun to rise and bring her back to him again.

 

**XXXXX**

 

The following week brought unseasonably warm weather, the kind of temperature that invited a person to wear their favorite sweater to ward off the cool, gentle breezes that danced among the reeds along the banks of the inlet.  Peeta set up his sketch pad and pencils on the sturdy bench he’d dragged out to the veranda while Katniss opened all the windows of the house as she always did when she first arrived in the morning.  The sound of her movements inside drew his attention towards her, an increasingly difficult distraction to ignore.  Ever since they’d spoken, he felt himself as if wrapped in a chrysalis - changing, growing, always more removed from the depravity that had brought him here in the first place.  He was a different Peeta from the grieving sod in that hotel room just a few short weeks ago and it seemed years, not days, separated him from that trauma.  He could attribute this to the beautiful countryside, perhaps the temperate weather or the smell of the sea.  But he was not in doubt that the small, quiet woman whose presence filled up every space in his family’s cottage had also contributed to the sense of tranquility that had settled on him.

As if having been summoned, she appeared at his side with a warm mug of the spiced milk she had introduced him to.  One morning, without a word, she’d given him the mug in place of his usual tea.  The concoction of milk, cinnamon, annais and sugar had captivated him and now he had to have at least one cup around mid-morning.  On Sunday, her one day off, he took it upon himself to duplicate the recipe, as he was as passionate about cooking as he was about drawing.  But it never tasted as good as when she made it for him.

Katniss gave him a small, shy smile as she approached and Peeta was mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips outlined under the soft cotton of her remarkably vibrant orange and brown dress.  In fact, her entire outfit was uncharacteristically pretty including the chocolate brown cardigan that was nothing like the heavy knit sweater she usually wore to keep the winter chill away.  The combination of brown and orange against her olive skin and the striking contrast with her shining light eyes reminded him of a painting of Pallas Athena that he’d seen in an art museum in Thessalonika.

He had almost convinced himself to compliment her when she lifted the used mug that he’d set down to keep his sketches from flying.  At that moment, a mischievous wind from the sea blew across the yard, picking up his sketches from that morning and casting them out over the small inlet that led to the open lagoon.  Katniss cried out in a panic, a stream of incomprehensible words exploding from her lips as the sheets swirled around her head flying purposefully towards the water while Peeta managed to reposition the mug to keep the remaining pages from disappearing.  Before he could stop her, she was racing down the small knoll towards the deck, attempting to keep the flood of sketches from landing in the lake.

Peeta called out to her repeatedly, trying to keep her from running after the wayward sheets, as these were just preliminary sketches and not worth the bother but there was no way he could communicate this to her.  Her intention dawned on him as she removed her cardigan and dropped it onto the deck.

“No, Katniss!  It’s not worth it!” he cried out, running down the hill to intercept her.

She carefully unbuttoned her dress and pulled it over her head and it was then that Peeta felt all his synapsis melt together at once.  The act of removing the dress loosened her signature braid, causing her impossibly thick, dark hair to fall in a cascade over her shoulders and down the most perfectly curved back he had ever seen, the tips of her hair sweeping the swell of her soft buttocks like a lover’s finger tips.  Her curves were perfect in proportion to her size and he momentarily imagined what the sweep of her hip would taste like under his lips.  The shock of this thought brought him back to the moment just as she crouched into a dive, her small breasts straining against her bra into the cool air.  He’d barely reached her when she had launched herself into the lake, yelping at what he was sure was terribly cold water.

“Fa freddo, cavolo! < _Damn, it’s cold!_ >” she yelled out.

“Damn woman! Now I’m going to have to go in after you!” he grumbled as he stripped down to his underwear and t-shirt, leaping clumsily into the water.

“Shit, it’s cold!” he screamed, trying to tread the icy water.

Katniss was already swimming to fetch the sheets that were farther out and work her way back in.

“Spero che siano opere di arte e non le merde dipinte dei bambini! < _I hope these are works of art and not shitty kids’ drawings!_ >” she exclaimed.

“It’s not worth it!” he called out, his voice shaking from the cold.  “It’s not like they are Picassos or anything.”  He muttered as he collected the pages closest to him.  He felt something on his leg and screamed out in surprise.

“Atenzione! Non disturbare l’anguile! < _Be careful!  Don’t disturb the eels!_ >” she shivered, looking at the water in disgust.

“Shit!  Eels!  I hate eels!” he panicked, swimming away.  “Please, just leave it all.  Damn it!” he exclaimed against the icy water and the slimy slithery creatures squirming against his skin.

They quickly fetched the remaining papers before running out of the water and back to the house, Peeta laid the pages along the desk inside while Katniss pulled out thick blankets and wrapped him in one, her freezing skin shocking him the instant she touched him.  Grabbing the other blanket from her shaking hands, he wrapped her up and without thinking, lifted her and carried her to the sofa, setting her down amongst the pillows.  Oblivious to the look of pure shock she gave him, he set about lighting a fire before pulling the sofa, with Katniss and all, closer to the flames.  He then curled himself next to her in his own blanket to warm up from the chill that had sunk down to his bones. He observed her now blue lips, the uncontrollable shivering and pulled her into the circle of his blanket, attempting to immerse her in his own warmth.

“You’re shaking like a leaf!” he said, peeling back the layers of her covers and pulling her to him, wrapping her in the warm cocoon of his arms and their blankets.

“Gia, mi muoro per colpa di quattro dipinti schemi. Perfetto! < _Right, I’m going to die because of four silly drawings.  Just perfect!_ >” She said, her shivering voice full of sarcasm.

“You’re going to go killing yourself over a bunch of silly drawings.  You could have gotten hypothermia or something!” Peeta’s concern increased when he felt the clammy ice of her skin and began to rub his hands over her trying to warm her.  Her sharp intake of breath clued him into the possible impropriety of his actions.

“I’m so sorry!” he fairly leapt back, pulling his hand away from her.  “You were just so cold…”

Her demeanor became very serious and though her teeth still chattered from the icy water, her eyes boiled with heated intensity.  “Ho freddo, Peeta. < _I’m cold, Peeta_. >”

It was the first time she had ever used his named, the sound of each syllable exploding from her lips instead of rolling gently off of the tongue, as if both syllables were accented _(Pi’-ta’)_.  He felt every muscle clench at the sound of the most perfect mispronunciation of his name he’d ever heard.  Enraptured by those two syllables, he felt the jolt on his skin as her icy fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist, gently pulling him back to her.

He let her take his hand and put it on her leg, guiding him as he gently rubbed the warmth into them.  She snuggled closer to him so that both of her arms were wrapped around him under the blanket.  Peeta’s mind had melted into a pile of helpless lust as he tried to be utilitarian about touching her.  His hands slid over the taut muscles of her thighs, up over her hips and around her back.  Her breath came in shorter bursts but he focused on the purpose of his movements – which was to warm her up – as his hands ran over her shoulders and arms and he struggled to ignore the delicious discomfort of his sudden, mindless desire.  When his hands found their way to her neck of their own volition, he was overcome with urge to pull her face towards his and crush her full lips under his own even as they parted in what he thought was open invitation.  Instead, he let his hands follow the original trajectory, from her shoulders to her leg, resolutely ignoring the rise and fall of her soft breasts against the damp cloth of her once white bra.

Under his careful caresses, her shivering slowed and soon her smooth, silky skin was warm to the touch.  He was careful to bunch the blankets over his hips in an effort to hide the effect touching her had on him.  He had never experienced such a sensuous moment and did not think he would soon recover from it.  She looked at him with such naked need he could barely return her gaze without leaping across the flimsy barriers of the thick blankets that separated them.  He wanted her – a desire that cast the rest of the world away until the only thing that remained was her lithe supple body before him.  And yet in that moment of incredible physical magnetism, he began to perceive that he wanted more than just her flesh.  The dangerous realization caused him to pull gently away from her.   

When he was satisfied that she was warm, carefully wrapping her in both blankets, he set about to prepare a cup of that amazing milk, offering it to her with all the unconscious supplication in his hungry heart for his mind was determined to ignore the thunderous stirring of his blood.  During that time in the kitchen, she’d managed to tuck the blankets more carefully around her, the look of abandon all but swept clean from her features.

She smiled in gratitude, holding the warm cup close to her as she sipped the warm milk.  “Grazie.” She set it down and looked at one of the sketches drying on the desk.  “Ma questi dipinti?  Che sono? < _These drawings.  What are they?_ >”  She drew her hand in the air, then tapped his chest.  “Gli dipingi solo come pasatempo or per un museo? < _Do you draw them as a hobby or for a museum?_ >”

Peeta smiled, understanding _museo_ because of his extensive experience with galleries.  “Yes.  Museum. Sometimes”  He grabbed a blank paper and drew a room with pictures and a stick figure in the middle.  “These are my pictures.” He pointed at the sketches and then at the pictures on the hand drawn walls.  “I’m preparing a series for an exhibit, amongst other things.”

“Magari, tu mi dovreste dipingere.  Un quadro di me? < _Maybe you you should paint me.  A portrait of me?_ > ” she smiled as she said this.

“Maybe I should paint you.  Would you like that? A portrait?” Peeta drew a square in the air and pointed at Katniss.

“Si!  Grande!” she laughed and his heart turned to mush in his chest.  She was utter perfection with her loose, wild hair, his blanket on her semi-naked body, where his hands had just been…

They sat in tense silence, unsure how else to behave with each other.  Finally Katniss stood up and took both her and Peeta’s cup.

“Devo lavorare.  Poi, mi porti a casa? < _I should work.  Will you take me home later?_ >” she mimed driving.

Peeta wanted nothing more than to capture those hands and pull them to him.  “Of course.  It’s the best part of my day.” he said quietly.

Her gaze softened, a look of sadness sweeping over her face. “E’ la parte piu triste della mia giornata, il momento in cui ti devo lasciare. < _It’s the saddest part of my day, the moment that I must leave you._ >”

With that, she shuffled out of the room.  Peeta tried desperately to distract himself from her absence by rearranging the damp papers.  He had no idea what she’d said but it was becoming harder and harder to let her out of the car each evening and his heart burst with treacherous longing at the thought that soon he would have to leave her for good.


	3. Conoscenza (Knowing)

The pre-dawn hours on the lake afforded Peeta his greatest moments of creativity – he often woke before sunrise, prepared a mug of strong Earl Grey tea and got right to work. He had the benefit of a powerful work ethic and talent from a very young age. But he was also a man in the grip of an enchantment. Ever since the day they’d plunged into the lake, his entire body had become attuned to Katniss.  He somehow knew when she was about to arrive – whether in Madame Trinket’s Citroen or her girlfriend’s red Fiat. He could almost imagine that the lagoon shivered and the trees trembled more violently in the wind when she was near.

The tenor of his solitude also changed – she was not a talkative girl – but her steady punctuality gave him something he realized he hadn’t had in a very long time – security.  It was ironic that a grown man of 30 would feel any vulnerability but he came to realize that, though his mind had not fully comprehended it, his heart and soul had anticipated Delly’s betrayal and driven him in his clingy insecurity towards her.

But Katniss had eyes that did not waver when she spoke, an even temper beneath which simmered a passionate fire, her calloused hands speaking of a life that had not given up its joys very easily to her.  He knew these things through mediums other than speech.  And she had secret talents too, passions that she held close to her chest like precious pearls buried on a rocky beach.

He stumbled upon this talent one morning when he returned from a hike in the hills around the lake, lingering on the western banks to sketch the view of the Mediterranean.  He returned by an unused path to the house, one that brought him through a thicket of bushes leading up to the large garden that now suffered under winter’s tyranny.  He’d heard before he saw her singing.  What captivated him was not just the warm, honeyed voice that floated over the trees but the quality of the song.   It was not a lullaby one would hum, but a passionate song, requiring her voice to stretch and climb to capture the notes.  He cursed again his inability to speak her language and simply contented himself to listening to her.

_Non c’e bellezza_

_Frase ad effetto_

_Un’assoluta verita’_

_Ma c’`e un istante_

_Nell’universo_

_Attimo eterno_

_In cui mi sento unica_

He peeked through the open window of the kitchen and leaned on the frame, watching as she moved about the kitchen.   She wore a simple fitted green dress with her thick knit sweater, the one she wore when the weather would be sharp but not freezing cold. Knowing her, she would be angry about being thus spied upon but he couldn’t stand to miss one note.  Watching her sing was as good as listening to her.

_Perche’ niente `e come te_

_E me insieme_

_Niente vale quanto te e me insieme_

_Siamo due respire_

_Che vibrano vicini_

_Oltre il male e il bene_

_Niente `e come me e te_

_insieme_

She held onto the last syllable and turned, but upon seeing him practically leapt into the air, the sponge she was holding dropping into a wet, soapy mess on the floor.  Her face, which had been in a sort of rapture, collapsed in shame and quickly hardened as she muttered to herself angrily, grabbing a towel from the counter to wipe the floor.

Peeta, distressed by her reaction, leapt through the low window and knelt beside her to take the rag from her and clean the mess he’d caused her to make.  She kept her head down, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment even when they both straightened up.  Peeta felt guilty, as if he had somehow violated her space.  He tried to catch her eye but she kept her head resolutely down so that he was forced to put a finger on her chin and lift her face to look at him.  She shivered at the contact, which made his own body vibrate, causing him to lose his concentration. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Scusa.” he begged.   “I’m sorry but you have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. I couldn’t help myself.” He brought his own hand to his mouth, trying to mime sound emerging from his lips.  “Bella.” He whispered.

The pink of her cheeks became crimson and she simply nodded vigorously.  “Grazie.” She said and mumbled something else that he did not capture.

“What?” he smiled.

She put her head up, her eyes boldly holding his own.  “Mi hai lanciato un brutto incantessimo e non ho piu pace _. <You’ve cast a black enchantment on me and I no longer have any peace.>_” She whispered.

“God, I wish I had studied Italian instead of French in school!  It’s like you’ve cast this spell on me and I have no more peace!” he exclaimed in frustration, running his hands through his thick blond hair.

Her breath came quickly, her chin suddenly trembling.  Peeta panicked and reached for her.  “Please, what’s wrong?”  She pursed her lips and, instead of answering made to turn around quickly but Peeta was already in pieces.  Her voice had been the final blow that had shattered his every last restraint.  He caught her arm as she tried to leave and pulled her to him, catching her by surprise.  He knew in that moment that everything he’d lived had been leading to this, that this would have happened no matter what, like the tide that rises and falls.  A small, fading part of him cursed his stupidity but he was undone.  He released all his good manners and wrapped his arms around her.

“I want to kiss you.  Will you let me?”  he begged, imploring with his eyes.  Katniss’ brows furrowed in confusion.  He lowered his head slowly, holding her eyes as he approached her lips, prepared to stop at any sign of hesitation from her.  Instead, her lips parted slightly for him, her head tilting up to receive him.  The feeling of her lips was softer, warmer, more electrifying than he had imagined and when he tasted her, he felt a rush of heat overtake him, making his skin numb with need.  At first, she let him kiss her, taking his time running his tongue over her lips, tugging gently at her tender flesh.  But a moment came when she responded, kissing him back, returning his invasion with fervor until he could only hold onto her, pulling her flush against his body.  He felt her arms slide over his shoulders, her fingers buried deeply in his hair, pulling his head to her insistently.  He’d kissed women all his life, in every possible context and yet at that moment, it was as if he had never kissed anyone before her.

Soon they kissed each other with abandon.  Peeta’s heart pounded in his chest as he picked her up against him.  Without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he walked them to his bedroom kissing her all the while.  Setting her down gently, he let his hands run over the smooth skin of her face, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheeks and nose.  He trailed his fingers over her lips and down her neck until they reached the top button of her dress.  Katniss chest heaved as she brought her hands up to his chest to undo his own shirt.  He was prepared to pull back, to stop but when his shirt fell open and her hands ran along his chest, he lost himself in the sensation of her fingers running through the dust of curls along his chest and abdoment.  His struggles with her buttons ended and he slid the dress off of her shoulders.  She was wearing a simple white bra and underwear set that heightened the dark tone of her luminous skin.

Peeta lowered his head to kiss her slowly.  He was in no hurry – didn’t want any of it to end so he was going to take her slowly.  He let his hands run the length of her back, his fingers sweeping the top of her buttocks, causing her to moan into his mouth.  She pulled back to look at him and whisper “Peeta” before running kisses along his jaw and throat, making him delirious.

He undid the clasp of her bra, hooking his fingers carefully in the straps and drawing them down, bringing his lips to her throat, licking the skin there before sweeping across her shoulders.  She shivered, goosebumps springing up over her skin.  Casting the bra aside, he looked at her perfect breasts, the small, dark nipples rigid, as if begging for his lips.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, then remembering himself, said, “Bellissima.”

Katniss smiled at him and pulled him in for a kiss while his hands ran over both of her breasts, cupping them while his finger and forefinger drew the nipples out further.  She soon guided his head down to suck on them, first one, then the other, releasing a moan into the air.  Gently, Peeta pushed her onto the bed and hovered over her, continuing his ministrations of her breasts, taking them in his mouth, searching for the pleasure she could not articulate any other way but through her body.

He trailed kisses along her stomach, his hands sweeping her hips and slipping under the waistband of her underwear, pulling them off.  He leaned back on his haunches and took in the sight of her.  “Toccami. < _Touch me_. >” She begged, bringing up her foot to rest on his thigh, sliding up the firm skin of his legs until it came to rest on his chest.  He captured it, kissing the instep and heel, reveling in the view she gave him.  His lips traveled down her calves and knees and up inner thighs until he was confronted with the core of her desire. Tugging her gently to the edge of the mattress, he positioned himself, eager to know her flavor.  Katniss gripped the bedsheet in anticipation as Peeta languidly ran the length of her with his tongue, overcome with the sudden desire to see her fall apart.  She muttered something in her thick voice as he continued to lavish her, finding her hard nub and sucking greedily, making her back arch off of the bed.  She moaned, delighting him in that for all her reserve, she was so vocal in expressing her pleasure.  When he slipped his tongue inside of her, her whimpers filled the room, spurring him on as he found a rhythm that made her mewl and writhe.  Emboldened, he slipped a finger inside of her, his own groans at feeling her wetness mingling with her sounds as his rhythm matched his tongue.  When he slipped a second finger and began to plunge into her, he felt her body climbing, his own excitement so intense, he stroked himself with his free hand, feeling the unbearable pressure building in him also.  The pulse of her orgasm surrounded his fingers, causing him to suck furiously until she screamed his name over and over falling apart, making him insane with the need to feel her around him.

As she lay moaning, he stumbled to the end table near the bed and pulled out a silver foil, ripping it impatiently with his teeth.  It was almost painful to touch himself, his desire to take her making him fumble with the thin material as he rolled it on.  Soon he was over her, lining his hips up with hers as she ran her hands over his chest before coming to rest on his hips.

“Ti prego, Peeta…please…” she whimpered, pulling him down to her entrance and lifting her hips in an invitation to bury himself inside of her.  Bereft of any remaining control, he plunged deeply into her, eliciting a gasp from her which he covered with his lips as he began to rock in and out of her.  She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him onward.  He watched her as first he ground deeply into her and then teased her by withdrawing and plunging into her.  Soon, too soon, he began to feel the clenching deep in his belly and he slammed into her, trying to give her as much as he could before he came also.  He watched her face intently as she came again and this time, he had no control left and let his orgasm explode out of his body also, their groans mingling with the scent of their bodies until the air was thick with their pleasure.  With a few last decisive strokes, he shuddered his release, gasping as he tried not to collapse over her.  

He pulled her against him, her fingers drawing tiny designs on his chest.  Peeta wanted nothing more than to board up the house and stay here in this bubble of warmth with her and tried very hard to not think of his departure, a return to the dismal realities of his current life.  He had no way of telling her how she had crept into his soul and taken root there.  When Katniss turned her face up to look at him, he saw in her glassy eyes the same thoughts and he was sure that, not having said a word, he had never known another person as deeply as he knew her in that moment.

So he spoke with his hands and his lips and spent the rest of the afternoon showing her in his primitive way what she had come to mean to him.  And when he whispered that he loved her, there was no need to translate her response, no need to question her understanding.

“Ti amo anch’io.” she sighed into his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Due Respiri" by Chiara, which will be translated in the next chapter.


	4. Capitulazione (Surrender)

The last week in Bouches-du-Rhone bore the aspect of mourning.  Katniss came each day and stayed later and later until one night, she stayed altogether.  Peeta would not let her work - it seemed absurd that they should lose even one moment to dusting and tea-making.  He took her around the lake and was happy to discover the graceful agility with which she managed the thick vegetation, making his heavy steps seem positively mammoth-like in comparison.   They drove to Martigues to see the castle ruins that overlooked the canal leading to the sea. He understood, by the way she pointed her chin up into the air and closed her eyes, letting the wind whip the wisps of her braid carelessly about her that she loved this spot.  Without warning, he pulled out his sketchbook and hastily sketched her delicate curves, proud back and look of rapture.  

It was in that moment that the realization that this would all end crashed down on him like a heavy weight.  Even if he stopped eating and sleeping to spend every conscious moment next to her, time would only march in one direction and each step forward would take him further and further from her.  He perceived the insanity of their position - they could barely speak 10 words to each other with any kind of comprehension and yet he had never felt more understood, more himself.  He thought of trying to explain this thing he felt to his family and friends and came up with no other explanation than the fact that it was irrefutable, though clearly the evidence was not in his favor.

And so he stopped thinking about it.  When Katniss’ silver eyes fell on him, he pulled her to him to show her his sketch.  She smiled sweetly at it, admiring each line.  She pointed at the paper and then at him.  “Per te?” she asked.

“I’m keeping this close to me.” he whispered, indicating with his hand that it was his.  “Mio. < _Mine_. >” he said.

She laughed and shook her head with some incredulity.  “E che di me?  Mi lasci senza un ricordo? < _What about me?  Will you leave me without a memory_? >”  She drew in the air, pointed at him, then pointed at her.

“You want a sketch of me?”  He considered this for a moment.  “Okay.”  He sat down on the ramparts and worked diligently.  He occasionally scratched his head while Katniss tried to point out where he might not be drawing himself properly until she pulled out a compact and held the mirror to his face.  “Guarda bene! Questo sei tu! < _Look here!  This is you!_ >” she said in mock exasperation.  He stared at himself dramatically, making silly faces, which caused Katniss to swat at him.  “E, dai!  Un po di serieta’! < _Come on!  Be serious_. >”

Peeta concentrated on his drawing, working diligently without further digressions.  When he looked up, he caught her staring at him with such intensity, she was physically startled.  

“Scusa.” she said, reaching out to sweep his eyelashes with her thumb.  He captured her hand and kissed it before handing her the finished sketch.  She looked at it for so long, Peeta began to worry.  All at once, she held it to her chest and whispered “Mio?”

He was heartbroken by her question, so small and uncertain. But of course she would have her doubts.  He was leaving, after all, wasn’t he?

“It’s yours, Katniss.  All of it.”  He placed his hand at the nape of her neck and pulled her to give her a gentle but searing kiss.  When he pulled back, he looked at her, already longing for her.

 

**XXXXX**

 

The last time Peeta drove her home, the car was suddenly too small for all the feeling it held.  Stopping at the corner of the block where her high-rise was located, he opened the door for her and was suddenly cemented to the pavement, unable to move further.  Katniss looked up at him, her braid lying heavily against the thick coat as if bracing itself from the bitter cold wind that blew across the lower middle-class neighborhood.  She gripped the strap of her leather bag with such force, her knuckles went white.  Peeta felt his heart sink somewhere around his knees, as if he were leaving a part of his body there in the middle of the street.  He swallowed several times, trying to will the words to come to him but for once, he was speechless.  

Katniss stared at him patiently, then spoke.  “Mi mancherei.  I tuio passi lenti e pesanti per las casa, le tue sopraciglie che brillano come l’oro, la maniera cui mi guardi come se fosse la unica ragazza al mondo.”  She swallowed hard, taking her eyes from him to look up and down the street.  “Non ti dementicherai mai, mai, mai… < _I will miss you.  Your slow, heavy steps throughout the house, your eyelashes that shine like gold, the way you look at me like I am in the only girl in the world…I won’t forget you, never, never, never!_ >” at this, she thrust a card in his hand and pulled him down for a kiss so passionate, he lost his senses.  Then, abruptly, she broke off and walked quickly without looking back down the familiar road to her flat.  He looked down at the paper, where there was an address in a town called Catania, Sicily.  Peeta almost chased her down, wanting to reach in and pull her back away from that place in time where she would soon reside in the past.  Instead, he folded the card close to his heart and drove away, half-blinded by his wretchedness.

 

**XXXXX**

 

When the taxi arrived in front of his brownstone apartment, night had already fallen on New York City.  For a town so dense, Peeta felt a vast emptiness, as if the space around him had expanded to the proportions of the Atlantic he had just crossed. Everything ached - from his pounding head to his tattered heart.  Once inside, he refused to turn on any lights.  He hadn’t replaced the cell phone he’d broken the day his life had gone into a tail spin.  He looked over at his answering machine and saw the blinking light.  He was miserable, in every sense of the word and had no curiosity for whoever might have been searching for him.  Perhaps it was hours or minutes but the ringing of the phone jolted him from his numbness and, seeing Finnick’s number on the ID, decided to pick up the receiver.

He’d barely said hello when Finnick began his rant.  “Bloody fucking bum!  Where the hell have you been?  You don’t show for the wedding reception and then I have to contact that blimy shit of an agent, Haymitch, to find out that you up and went to Europe?  What kind of fucking friend does shit like that?”

_A friend who had gone and had his heart ripped out of his chest... **twice**._

He could imagine Finn’s face blushing red all the way to his wavy hairline.  Despite his misery, Peeta could not help the smile that snuck up on his face.  

“I’m fine.  I just...had to go. Gallery business…” Peeta muttered.

“Gallery business, my mother’s arse.  We’re on our way over.”

“Look, Finn, you don’t have to do that.  I just got off the plane.” Peeta pleaded.

“I’m coming over and I’m bringing the Moor with me.  I’ve got half a mind to put my foot up your shitter, Peeta fucking Mellark!”  At that, he slammed down the phone.

Fuck.  That’s all he needed was a crazy Irishman calling him to accounts.  Knowing that his only other recourse was to rent a room again in West Village, he jumped into the shower to freshen himself up for the verbal tongue-lashing he was about to receive.

 

**XXXXX**

 

When Peeta opened the door, he was greeted with a pizza- and beer-bearing duo and realized how much he had missed these two idiots.  

“Hey, asshole.” said Thresh, setting the pizza on the kitchen counter.

“Man, Thresh, I’m sorry about the reception.  Trust me, I would not have skipped out on it if it wasn’t for a serious reason.” Peeta said.

“Skipped out on not only the reception, but on the whole bloody fucking country!” exclaimed Finnick.  “And you didn’t spare anyone even a phone call. You better spit it out.”

Thresh, always the more reasonable one of the two, cut Finnick’s rant off before he got too far underway.  “Peet, we know you.  You’re not unreliable.  Something big had to go down for you to book it like that.”

Peeta blew the air out of his lungs before taking another breath.  “You´re gonna want to sit down for this one, because it’s a long story.”  They took their places on the sofa while Peeta took the chair opposite the coffee table in the living room.  He wanted to make sure he could see both of their reaction. “Remember when I went home after the wedding to check on Delly?”

“She had the flu, right?” probed Finnick.

“Yeah, well, she didn’t have the flu and she wasn’t alone.”

A tense silence fell on the three of them, the only sound was the low whirring of the refrigerator motor in the background.

“Fuuuuuuuck….” hissed Thresh quietly.

Finnick just stared open-mouthed at Peeta, looking momentarily like a gaping fish, albeit a rather good-looking one.

“Fuck, indeed, mate.  I’ve got nothing.  Thresh?”  Finnick looked over at his friend, who was still processing the news.

“Was it someone you knew?” he asked, steepling his hands before his face, looking every bit the psychologist that he was.

Peeta nodded slowly.  “Yeah, but I’d rather not say who.  It’s pretty embarrassing.  They’d been at it for a year.” he said, feeling remarkably detached considering he’d spent a week having a pity party about it over at the hotel.

Finnick just shook his head.  “So she really had a stronger immune system than we thought, eh, buddy?”  He clapped Peeta on the back.  “Look, I never liked her anyway.  A little too shallow, ya know?  It’ll be okay, old man.”

Thresh got up to pop a cap off of a bottle of Corona and handed it to Peeta.  “You need one of these.” He shook his head at his friend.  “He’s right. She was a little too soft for you.”  Peeta gave a sarcastic tip of his bottle in acknowledgement before downing half of it.  He suddenly straightened in his chair.  

“You know, it doesn’t even bother me.  I didn’t think about her the whole time I was in Bouches-du-Rhone except when I first got there.  I was hurt but not so much by her as I was by the fact of who she was banging.”  He said.  “I mean, I was a wreck. That’s why I had to go. But deep down, I wasn’t really surprised.”

Finn bored into him with his sea-green eyes.  “Man I hate to dig and all, but I just, I need to know who I have to kill."

Peeta chuckled.  “Nah, man, you can’t kill this guy.  My mom would get pissed.”

Thresh choked on a gulp of beer, sputtering as he spoke.  “Dude, don’t...tell me..”  He stared at Peeta while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as understanding dawned on him.  “No fucking way!”

Finnick looked from Peeta to Thresh and back again.  “The two of you want to let me in on your little secret?”  The last part of his question was drowned out by a sudden roar from Thresh.

Peeta just leaned back. “Finn, she was with Rye.”

Finnick’s face went pale while Thresh gave Peeta another beer.  “I totally forgive you, man. I would’ve ended up in China after some fucked up shit like that.  Damn!” Thresh muttered.

Peeta nodded and took the second beer gratefully.  “Thanks.”

Finn was still speechless.  He just leaned back into the sofa and downed the rest of his beer.

“I need something a little stiffer.” Finnick said finally.

“Under the credenza.” indicated Peeta.

“Grab three glasses too.” called out Thresh. Turning towards Peeta.  “Family reunions are going to be hell now.  You gonna tell your mom?”

Peeta chuckled bitterly.  “What, you mean tell her that her baby is a fucking slimeball?  She’d just find a way to blame it on me.  No, I’m just going to lay low for a while.  Stay away from the whole family scene.  It hasn’t been the same without dad anyway.”  Peeta became thoughtful.  He was still outraged with his brother if he dug down deep enough.  

Finnick set the bottle of Jack Daniels on the center table and poured out a generous helping, passing a glass to everyone.  “Now I feel like a heel.  I’m sorry, old man.”  he downed the amber liquid in one gulp.  “Right fecking sorry.”

Peeta downed his shot, pouring himself another.  “I’m not.  I mean, I’m not sorry about Delly.”

Both men looked at him in askance.  “How’s that?” asked Finnick.

Peeta knew he was being a little crazy but the mix of beer and liquor were working their magic, loosening his tongue.  “I met somebody.” he said quietly.

Thresh raised an eyebrow before responding.  “What?  You mean a girl?”

Finnick whipped his head at Thresh with exasperation. “No, an Arctic Seal!  Of course he means a girl!” Thresh flicked him off but Finnick ignored him.  “Details, man.  You hooked up with a French hottie?”

Peeta felt a momentary irritation with his friend at the way he was referring to Katniss before pushing it down.  He couldn’t know how she had affected him, or that she had been more than just a “hook-up.’

“No, she’s Italian and she is not a hook-up.” He said with some force.

“Italian?” interjected Thresh, sensing Peeta’s mood.  “Aren’t you the globe-trotting stud. Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” whispered Peeta, suddenly feeling a wave of despondency wash over him.  “She’s nice.  Really...nice…” he said, dropping his eyes to his glass before emptying it.

Finnick became more animated.  “No, no, no. Rebounds are not good, man.  Not good at all.” Thresh gave him a murderous look but he ignored that also.  “I’m serious, Peet.” he said with emphasis.  “Peeta?”

Peeta was pouring his fourth shot and his head was filled with Katniss.  He didn’t know whether it was the thought of her or the alcohol that made him feel more light-headed but he felt himself fairly floating above the current scene.  That’s how he’d been feeling since he left her in front of her building.  Disoriented.

“When did you know that Annie was the one?” he asked Finnick suddenly.

Finnick froze, considering him for a moment.  “I knew it the minute she walked into our Anthropology class the very first day.  You know it’s meant to be when you think the most wonderful creature you’ve ever seen smells like rotten cod-fish.” They chuckled at this.  “But I wasn’t getting over a major double betrayal.  It’s not the same…"

Peeta nodded and turned to Thresh.  “How about you?  When did you know Rue was the one for you?

Thresh smiled.  “First date.  It was during the appetizer.  We were eating these greasy mozzarella sticks. I just saw it like a flash.  Marriage.  Kids.  Grandkids.  It was like a kick in the gut.”

The combination of the long trip, the beer and the Jack started to take its effect on Peeta and he slurred his words.  “I met the girl of my life and she lives in another country,” he swung his glass, spilling some of the liquid,   “and I can’t even speak her language.  Fuck my life.” his head lolled back, the glass landing, liquid and all on his lap but it didn’t matter.  Within seconds, he’d slipped into welcome oblivion.

 

**XXXXX**

Peeta woke late the next morning in his bed.  He was dressed only in his boxers and t-shirt, his head feeling like it was caught in a vice.  Groaning, he went to the bathroom to brush the taste of sour cotton out of his mouth and walked to the kitchen.  As he passed the guest room, he saw a sock-covered foot sticking out from under the covers, Thresh’s heavy, beer breath permeating the room. Peeta shut the door carefully and made his way to the kitchen, where he saw Finnick sprawled out on his sofa.  He shook his head - they knew how to take care of him and he was grateful, because today, he missed Katniss more than ever, if that was even possible.  Talking about her to his friends brought her out of the realm of dreams where he had resided with her and made her concrete in his own world.  It made the challenges of their separation more real.

Which made solving his problem realistic also.

Downing the orange juice that he’d poured himself, he went to his study and fired up his laptop.  Soon, he was Googling how to learn a foreign language and stumbled on a rather expensive but well-reviewed language program that he could download right away upon purchase.  Peeta already spoke French - it should be possible for him to learn Italian as a result.  As the program was downloading, Finnick appeared in the doorway of his study looking like death warmed over.

“Awe, blimey, my head´s about to blow.  Damn, I’m getting too old for drinking beer chasers.” He complained as he sat in the chair across from Peeta’s desk.  “What are you up to?”  He asked.

“I’m downloading a foreign language program.  I’m going to learn Italian.”

Finnick stared at him for a moment, his eyes twinkling.  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lovely lady you met on your trip, would it?”

“Pretty much. I knew I had smart friends.” chuckled Peeta.  “We could hardly speak to each other but…” he paused, thinking of those quicksilver eyes that seemed to read his thoughts “…she just, she _got_ me, you know?  And I got her.”  He got up suddenly from his seat and pulled out the sketchpad.  “This is her.” He showed the sketch to his friend.

Finnick looked at the drawing.  “The way you drew her, she looks like a queen in common clothes.  A real beauty, that one.”  He handed the sketchbook to Peeta, who propped it against his book shelf so that Katniss’ picture was looking out at him.  “Look, I’m sorry about last night, with the whole rebound thing.  It’s not my place to tell you where you should put your heart.”

Peeta reclined into his chair.  “It’s okay.  You’re just looking out for me.  If you want to make it up to me, you can be my Italian partner.”

“Oh, no!  I can barely speak the English language.  I’ll feather your love nest and drive you back and forth to the airport but you keep that foreign language to yourself.”  He got up out of his chair.  “Your cupboards are bare.  I’ll run down to the shop and whip us up some breakfast and leave you to your polyglotting, what ye say, old man?”

Peeta pressed the “launch” button on the pop-up window. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

**XXXXX**

 

The month of December passed with the same daily routine.  Peeta woke, usually after dreaming of Katniss.  If he didn’t dream of her, he daydreamed about her, most times both.  He went to his studio and worked on fleshing out one sketch or another, sometimes just painting her when nothing better came to mind.  Then he worked out, pounding his body particularly hard to stem his ever-present longing.  Then, if he could spare it, he would spend his afternoon on his Italian program.  He bought a collection of Italian music and subscribed to RAI television so that he could watch what was becoming more comprehensible programming, though he wondered if he’d ever understand the news.

One day, he couldn’t bear her absence and pulled out a sheet of drawing paper, sketching the view of L’Etang de Berre from his cottage and a woman with a dark braid standing in profile.  He thought to unleash a bit of his Italian on the paper but, thinking better of it, he simply signed it _Con tanto amore, Peeta_.  Folding it carefully, he prepared the envelope and sent by three-day mail.  It was as close as he could be to her right now. 

“It’s like fucking Little Italy in here!” exclaimed Finn one day when he walked in to find Peeta watching a soap opera that, despite its melodramatic score, he found rather entertaining.

“Benvenuto!  Andiamo a fare le spese? < _Welcome!  Shall we go shopping?_ >” Peeta said

“Don’t talk that shit to me.  You probably have that obnoxious American intonation when you say it.  Ruins even a romantic language.”

“I’m proud of my accent!  A girl down at Pascua’s thought it was cute.”

Finnick chuckled.  “Probably trying to get into yer pants.  Come on! Let’s get this Christmas shopping done.”

“Yeah, we don’t want your _fiancé_ to think you waited for the last minute to get her a gift.” Peeta teased as he grabbed his coat and soon they were out the door.

 

**XXXXX**

 

“This is what I’m getting her. What do you think?  It’s the color of her eyes.” said Peeta with reverence as he showed Finick the custom-ordered necklace with a single grey pearl hanging at the end of the chain.

Finn whistled.  “Elegant and understated.  If this doesn’t make her want to bear your children, I don’t know what will.”

Peeta jabbed him in the ribs but became quiet.  “Marriage.  Kids.  Grandkids.  It’s like a kick in the gut.”  He repeated almost to himself.

Finnick glanced over at him, becoming very serious.  “You’re really in love with this girl, aren’t you?”

Peeta gave a rueful smile.  “It would seem so.  You think she'll be impressed when she gets her package?”

Finnick looked at him in shock.  "You're not going to mail it to her, are you?  Don't you know anything about the Italian post?  Half of what gets sent ends up behind the postman's desk!"  he chuckled.  "Doesn't that gift have any meaning for you?"

"Of course!"

"And you love her, right?" he probed.

"We've been over that." Peeta said in exasperation.

“So why the hell are you still here?” Finnick exclaimed.

Peeta had no time to consider Finnick’s question when a figure inched towards his side. He smelled her perfume in the frigid air before he saw her.  His first instinct was to run but he knew if something wanted to destroy him, at some point you had to turn around and face it. Taking a deep breath, he acknowledged her.

“Delly.” He said flatly.

“Peeta?” she whispered with a trembling lip, her dusty blue eyes peering shyly up at him. “How…how are you?”

Finn came up on Peeta’s flank.  “Well, Delly, how’s it been?  You look like you’re in good health.” He said sweetly.

Peeta wanted to elbow him again but kept himself composed.  “Doing a little bit of Christmas shopping.  You know.  ‘Tis the season.”

Delly nodded slowly.  “You changed your number?  I’ve been trying to call you.”

Peeta looked her over. Despite the winter coat, she still exuded the voluptuous magnetism that once made her irresistible to him.  Now, he just felt indifferent. “It had a bit of a mishap so I just got a new one altogether.”

“Right.” There was an awkward pause as Delly looked everywhere but at him.  It was clear she wanted to say more to Peeta but Finnick was obstinately standing next to both of them with a shit-eating grin that made it clear he wasn’t going to budge.  “Peeta, do you think, I mean, could we maybe talk?”

“Honestly, I don’t see why we need to.  I’m really not bitter – not with you anyway.  These things happen.” Peeta shrugged.  “Have a Merry Christmas, Del.”

She nodded quickly, grabbing his hand in a jerky, uncoordinated way before giving a curt goodbye to Finnick and walking briskly down the avenue.  Peeta watched her leave, studying his own heart as he did so.  There was nothing, or at least nothing of Delly’s left. 

Finnick clapped Peeta on the back before turning back to the delicate charm bracelet he’d been examining for Annie, leaving him to the solitude of his thoughts.

 

**XXXXX**

 

 

Christmas Eve was a big deal in his mother’s house.  Even though she was widowed and Peeta and his older brother, Bing, lived on their own, she still insisted on holding on to the enormous stone house buried under evergreens at the end of a long, stone driveway in upstate New York.  She’d put an executive board in charge of the Mellark’s Family Bakery Corporation and lived life, together with Rye, in relative leisure.  With so much idle time, she was able to lavish her attention on having a well-ornamented home for the holidays.

Peeta carried bags of gifts for the 20 or so relatives, including his niece and two nephews, who would be gathered for Christmas dinner.  He was back in his suit and new silver grey striped tie and feeling constrained by the long sleeves and scratchy collar.  He did it for his mother who did not approve of his largely casual wardrobe, conveniently ignoring the fact that his profession made it impractical for him to dress like a Vogue male model, except during gallery openings.  Of course, the limits of that reasoning were that she did not really consider his being an artist an actual profession, even though he was successful enough to keep a brownstone with an attached loft in Soho.

There was a restlessness growing in him of late, the idea that he was in the wrong place and that there was somewhere else he needed to be.  This inconsolable feeling was only magnified when three days earlier he’d received a letter that almost made his heart burst out of his chest.  It was wrinkled and travel worn but he’d opened it carefully as if he were opening a golden envelope.  Inside was a hand-written note in feminine print:

 

**_Stella..._**

 

 

 

 

_Stella, mia unica stella <Oh Star, My only star>_

_Nella povertà della notte,sola, <In the poverty of night, alone>_

_Per me, solo, rifulgi, <Only for me, alone, do you shine>_

_Nella mia solitudine rifulgi, <Into my soliltude, you shine,>_

_Ma, per me, Stella <But, for me, star>_

_Che mai non finirai d'illuminare <That will never cease to illuminate>_

_Un tempo ti è concesso troppo breve, <A short time has been given to you, too short>_

_Mi elargisci una luce <You extend a light to me>_

_Che la disperazione in me <That does nothing to assuage>_

_Non fa che acuire. <The desperation in me.>_

_-Giuseppe Ungaretti_

_-Katniss_

 

He took a few moments to look up some of the words.  After several re-readings, he leaned back in the soft leather chair of his office and began to swivel around in it, a bubble of laughter rising in him until it echoed off of the walls.  As if he had woken up from a drunken stupor, clarity descended on him and he remembered Finnick’s question to him earlier that week. 

_What the hell was he still doing here?_

Now, he was trudging through snow, laden down with packages in large, white gift bags.  He had to ring the doorbell with his elbow.  His mother opened the door, a glass of white wine already in hand.

“Peeta!  Well, how good it is of you to finally come and visit your family.  Put your packages down over there, darling.” She exclaimed, her silver bob framing an aquiline face.  Her eyes were a dull brown color, a color she had luckily not passed onto any of her sons.  He could not say the same about her surly character, which was on full display in the person of his older brother Bing.

“Mom.” He said as he kissed her cheek.  He looked over her shoulder to see his family and their close friends circulating in the large living room.  In that far corner, he caught sight of Rye, trying to melt behind the large, red velvet living room curtain while Bing attempted what looked like a boring conversation with his disinterested younger brother.  Though Peeta was still profoundly disappointed in Rye, he nonetheless waved at them from the doorway.  Outside of the pitiful character that Rye had exposed, Peeta could not help but feel somewhat thankful to him, for had he not brought him to his knees in desperation, he would have had recourse to escape to Bouches-du-Rhone and consequently, would have never met Katniss.

“Uncle Peeta! Uncle Peeta!” screamed his nephews and niece when they saw him.  He was well-loved by his brother’s children because he always brought the best gifts and played for hours with them.  It was the only part of this evening he was sorry to miss.

After a round of cursory well-wishes, he found his mother at the hors d’oevre table.  Pulling her gently aside, he steeled himself, for when she knew what he was planning, she would surely pitch a holy fit.

“Mom, I can’t stay.  I’m catching a flight tonight and I have to leave.”  He whispered.

His mother’s faced became hard with consternation as she exclaimed in a shrill voice.  “I cannot believe what I am hearing!  You’ve already missed Thanksgiving!  How many holidays do you think I have left that you can squander them in this way?” 

Her whining, combined with the dramatic guilty felt like nails on a blackboard.  “Mom, you are going to live at least another hundred years and I promise I’ll make it up to you next year.  But I’ve got a gallery opening” he closed his eyes at the lie. “I’m the only one who can oversee it.”

His mother was positively livid.  “If you had gone into the family business, like Bing, you would have been able to set more reasonable – and family friendly – holidays.  This is unacceptable!  I won’t have it!”  She became positively squeaky.  Peeta shivered; no doubt, his brother’s taciturn disposition was also a result of being mired in the family’s business, his life and that of his family under the virtual control of his mother.

“Sorry, but a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.  Merry Christmas!” He planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek.  Peeta took advantage of her momentary shock to escape the house and drive like a demon to the airport.

 

**XXXXX**

Peeta underestimated how grueling a 13 hour journey from Newark to Catania through Rome would be, even in first class.  By the time he stepped out of the airport and into the busy, chaotic streets of Catania, he was wiped out.  Taxi drivers, both regulated and unregulated, swarmed on him, his foreignness screaming out at them like a pine tree in the desert.  However, when he requested a taxi in a fairly respectable Italian and even managed to negotiate the price ahead of time to avoid surprises at the hotel, he was pleased to find that his hours and hours of study had yielded a practical result.

Even so, he found he could not rest, as he was so close to his destination.  After a shower and a change into fresh clothing, he went down to the bar to down two espressos and request a taxi, staring all the while at the card with the address Katniss had given him.  He was so caught up with his objective it never occurred to him that he might fail at his endeavor, that perhaps she wouldn’t be as happy to see him as he was to see her or, even worse; that she would already be spoken for. 

His nerves took a terrible turn so he forced himself to focus instead on the drive through the busy streets of the town, admiring the glimpses of the coastline on one side and the vague outline of Mount Etna towards the interior.  The sun was setting and he was riveted by the glaze of golden light that bathed the whitewashed buildings interspersed throughout the typical tiled residences lining both cobblestoned streets and paved roads.  Just as he managed to still his racing heart, his taxi arrived at their destination – a busy road with intricate alleyways lined with four and five story apartment buildings. The windows were adorned with hanging rectangular clay flower pots filled with all manner of delicate red, yellow and white flowers.  The street was neat and clean, though this was clearly a residential working-class neighborhood unplagued by the raucous traffic of the city center.

Peeta stepped out onto the sidewalk, following the helpful indications of the driver that brought him to a set of heavy wooden doors adorned with brass knockers.  On the frame were doorbells with handwritten apartment numbers printed next to each one.  He took a deep breath, wiping his clammy palms on his beige slacks.  Despite this, his hand shook as he pressed the button with _Numero 4_ printed in tidy letters.  He heard the buzzer go off somewhere inside and an explosion of static as a woman’s voice came through.  “Chi e’?” she said calmly.

“Eh, sono Peeta Mellark.  Cercho Katniss. < _Eh, I’m Peeta Mellark.  I’m looking for Katniss_. >”

There was an interminable pause before he heard a harsh buzz. Momentarily confused, he pushed against the door, which gave way to reveal a dark corridor with stairs at the end.  Stepping inside, he was startled by the dim overhead lights that suddenly came on, revealing a row of metallic post boxes along one side of the wall.  On the floor was a circular mosaic of a blue and black bird, wings outstretched as if ready to take flight.  He walked carefully to the stairs, unsure of where to go when a door opened on the floor above him and a woman of about fifty bent over the balustrade, peering curiously down at him.  Her hair was of a burnished gold, her face remarkably pretty.  He took the stairs until he arrived at the landing and paused, unsure of what he should do.

“Io sono la mamma.  Chi cerca a Katniss? < _I am Katniss’ mother.  Who looks for her?_ >” she asked, her eyes carefully appraising his appearance.

“Sono un…amico di Katniss.  Da Stati Uniti. _< I am a friend of Katniss. From United States.>_”  She did not move.  “Ahem, eh, sono qui per… chiedendo… il permesso di…. sposare la sua figlia. _< Ahem, eh, I’m here to asking permission to marry your daughter.>”_  His imperfect grasp of the language together with his nerves made him feel incomprehensible.

Her eyes grew wide in shock but she recovered her composure.  At that moment, a beautiful blond girl of perhaps twenty burst excitedly out of the apartment.

“Mamma!  Queste e’ il ragazzo di Katniss.  Ciao, Peeta! _< Mamma!  This is Katniss’ boyfiend!  Hello, Peeta!>_”  She extended her hand out to him, shocking him with her familiarity.  “I’m Rosa, Katniss’ sister.”  He shook her hand with gratitude, his heart leaping in his chest at the idea that she might have spoken to her sister about him _._ Her mother gave her a stern look but Rosa ignored her.  “She show me picture of you.  She working in the trattoria right now.  If you like, I take you!”   She turned to her mother.  “Lo porto io in trattoria.  Ti prego, mamma!  Katniss sara’ cosi’ contenta. _< I’ll take him to the restaurant.  Please, mamma!  Katniss will be so happy.>_”

Her mother turned to her younger daughter, debating for a moment before relenting.  “Va bene, pero vado pur'io. Chiama il tuo cuggino, cosi c’i accompagna, per favore. < _Okay, but I’m going also.  Call your cousin so that he may accompany us, please._ >”

Rosa clapped her hands girlishly before running up the stairs.  Peeta stood awkwardly at top step, listening to Rosa rap on a door and the subsequent muffled conversation before the sound of steps descending the stairs filled the corridor.  Katniss’ cousin turned out to be a tall, olive skinned man, about Katniss’ age, with brilliant grey eyes and dark hair so like Katniss’, he could have easily been her brother.

He looked at Peeta with diffidence before extending his hand, “Piacere.  Sono Gale, il cugino di Rosa e Katniss. < _Pleased to meet you. I’m Gale, Rosa’s and Katniss’ cousin. >_”

Peeta returned the firm handshake.  “Sono Peeta Mellark, il amico di Katniss. _< I’m Peeta Mellark, Katniss’ friend.>_” he replied, still thrilled at being referred to as her boyfriend by Rosa.  “Piacere.”

“Lo so chi sei. _< I know who you are.>_” Gale turned abruptly towards Katniss’ mother. “Pronti? _< Ready?>_?”

“Be’, si. Andiamo. < _Well, yes. Let’s go_. >” She said with some wariness.

As Peeta followed Rosa down the narrow stairs, he heard another set of pounding feet on the stairs, followed by a loud bellow from Gale.   However, the group that followed did not heed him and Peeta was shocked to see a boy and girl followed by an older woman, likely the mother twittering excitedly.  Had it been any other context, Peeta would have found the whole scene to be comical.  As it was, his nerves had shriveled to the size of a peanut in his stomach.

As soon as they were on the pavement, Rosa walked next to Peeta and began to chat pleasantly with him.

“You come all the way from New York?” she asked. 

“Yes, I just arrived about two hours ago.” Peeta smiled down at the lovely girl.

“O, che romantico!  Katniss say you meet in Marsiglia, yes?”  Her bright blue eyes twinkled in the lamplight of the cool evening.

“Yes.  We met when she was working there.”

“Che bello!  Katniss go some months in France.  Make many money and then come home to work in the trattoria.  She work all the time.  No boys for Katniss.  You are the first boy she talk about with me.”

Peeta beamed at this.  One of his fears, that she might be spoken for and he was glad to put it to rest.  “How do you know English so well?” he asked.

“I study English in liceo _< high school>_ but Katniss pay for extra tutor.  I must study English for the University.  Katniss say I must go to University.  I will be a doctor when I finish.”  Peeta’s heart grew somewhat larger in his chest at the thought of Katniss working so menially so that her sister could have a chance to study medicine.  It was obvious that Rosa loved her older sister very much and he made a vow to himself that he would take on Katniss’ dreams and aspirations for her sweet little sister as seriously as if they were his own. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Gale scowling unpleasantly at both of them.

Soon they were at the restaurant.  It was a typical establishment, with stone walls and rafters reminiscent of a mine shaft.  Candles and soft lighting glowed, giving the place a warm feeling.  And the _smells_.  Peeta had never known a place to smell so enticing.  His heart began to race as Gale pushed his way through to the front.

“Scusa, ma Katniss, dove sta’? < _Excuse me, where is Katniss._ >” he asked a well-dressed gentleman at the bar.

“Perche’? < _Why_? >” he asked haughtily.

Gale indicated in Peeta’s direction with his head.  “Questo ragazzo la cercha.  La vuole sposare. < _This young man is looking for her.  He wants to marry her_. >”

The gentleman, clearly the manager, shook his head.  “Impossibile!  E’ la piu brava impiegata che abbiamo! < _That’s impossible!  She is the best worker we have!_ >”

As they continued their conversation, Peeta eyes swept the restaurant but he saw no one that even remotely looked like her.  Suddenly, a door in the back swung open, a bright stream of light flooding the smooth warm glow of the dining area, outlining Katniss’ figure as she exited the kitchen balancing two plates of pasta in each hand.  His heart stopped – she was exactly as he remembered her and he had to resist the urge to rush over and pull her to him.  As he was drinking in the sight of her, she looked up, an expression of shock overtaking her features. 

“Peeta!” she gasped, carefully setting down the plates with some help from the patrons at the table.

He cleared his throat.  “Buona sera, Katniss. < _Good evening, Katniss_. >”

She tugged nervously at her braid.  “Buona sera, Peeta.”

A hush fell over the restaurant as Peeta took a deep breath, taking out a small cue card and cradling it in his hand, though he tried very hard not to read from it. 

“Bella Katniss.  Io sono qui con il proposito di chiedere di sposarmi." he paused to take a shaky breath.  "Lo so que sono un pazzo, che quasi non c’i conosciendo.  Pero a volte, le cose sono cosi chiarezza da non avere bisogno di prove evidenziale.” He paused sheepishly.  “Io vivo qui o tu poi vivere con me negli Stati Uniti.

< _Beautiful Katniss. I’m here with the view to asking you to marry me." he paused to take a shaky breath.  "I know I am crazy, that we hardly knowing each other.  But sometimes, things are so transparency as to not require evidential proof." he paused sheepishly."   I can live here or you can live with me in the United States_. >”

Rosa chimed happily, “Negli Stati Uniti, cosi vengo pur’ io! < _Live in the United States, so I can come too!_ >” The restaurant erupted into subdued laughter and Peeta could not help but cast an indulgent smile in her direction.

“E ovvio che non penso che tu sia cosi’ pazzo come me e immagino che tu mi dirai ‘no’.” Here Peeta took a deep breath.  “Pero siccome e’ Natale, volevo solo sapere.”

< _It’s obvious that I don’t think you are as crazy as me and I imagine that you will tell me no." Here Peeta took a deep breath.  "But because it is Christmas, I just wanted to know_. >

Katniss looked around the room with a quivering nervousness when Rosa erupted “Dirgli di si!  Lo sai che lo ami! < _Oh, tell him yes!  You know you love him!_ >”  Katniss launched grey arrows with her eyes at her little sister.

When her eyes fell upon Peeta, the look she gave him was one he would never forget in his entire life.  “Thank you.” She said quietly.  “That will be nice.  I say yes.” Her face broke into an enormous smile.  “Yes be my answer.  I marry you.”

Peeta felt his face split open.  “Really?”

Katniss walked towards him.  “Yes, really.”

“Que hai risposto? < _What did you say?_ >” asked Gale.

“Ho detto di si. Lo sposero’ < _I said yes.  I will marry him_. >”

The entire restaurant erupted in applause as she closed the space between them.  He touched her braid gently, rubbing its incredible softness between his thumb and forefinger.

“You learned English?” he asked incredulously.

“I study a little bit.” She answered. “Just in case.”  Peeta could not contain his joy any longer and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with all the longing he had held in the last month they had been apart.  When they separated, he felt Katniss’ mother come up and give him a kiss on each cheek, followed by Rosa, who fairly squealed in delight, Gale’s family and people who were friends of Katniss’ family.  Finally, with what he later learned was simply his default sour expression, was Gale, pulling him in for a double kiss that both surprised and gratified Peeta.  “Tanti auguri < _Congratulatons_ >.” he said as he patted Peeta on the shoulder.

At the insistence of the crowd, Katniss was relieved of her shift and a spontaneous celebration erupted.  Peeta let Katniss order whatever she thought he might like. He tried for the first time the hard Sicilian bread that was typical of the area, seafood soup from seafood caught that very day, a pasta with mussels that he could have made a meal alone out of and pan doro, a kind of vanilla cake drizzled with Nutella and drowned in amaretto.  It was Christmas Day after all and Katniss’ mother decided that the lasagna could keep just as well until tomorrow.  The owner of the small restaurant turned out to be a cousin of Katniss’ father and so he let the young couple and her family celebrate their happy time. The food, the heady love ballads that played on the old-fashioned juke box, the spumanti and Katniss next to him all conspired to make him feel the happiest he had ever truly felt in his life.

When the crowds had dwindled down to just Katniss’ family and a handful of friends chatting amiably, Peeta took Katniss’ hand to dance a sultry song that rang somewhat familiar to him.

Katniss rested her head on his shoulders as they swayed to the earthy tones of the singer’s voice.  Peeta was drifting – he was close to being awake for 24 hours and the music together with the food and drink made him feel mellow and drowsy. 

She turned her head up to him and asked “You like this music?”

“Mmm…si…reminds me of you.” He muttered into her hair.

“I sing this song for you.  In Francia.  Ti ricordi  < _In France.  Do you remember?_ >?”

Peeta perked up and listened carefully

 

 

 

_Non c’e bellezza <There's no beauty,>_

_Frase ad effetto <No clever words>_

_Un’assoluta verita’ <An absolute truth>_

_Ma c’`e un istante <But there is an instant>_

_Nell’universo <In the Universe>_

_Attimo eterno <An eternal moment>_

_In cui mi sento unica <In which I feel unique>_

_Perche’ niente `e come te <Because nothing is like you>_

_E me insieme <And me together>_

_Niente vale quanto te e me insieme <Nothing is as good as you and I together>_

_Siamo due respire <We are two breaths>_

_Che vibrano vicini <That vibrate near each other>_

_Oltre il male e il bene <Beyond good and evil>_

_Niente `e come me e te <Nothing is like you and me>_

_insieme <Together>_

 

“You are unique... _unica_...”  He reached into his pocket and pulled the small silver box out, handing it nervously to her.

Katniss hands shook as she accepted the box.  “Non dovevi, Peeta! < _You shouldn’t have, Peeta! >_” she exclaimed as she opened the box to find the grey pearl necklace inside.  He took it carefully out of the box and put it around her neck.  She rolled the pearl between her thumb and forefinger before bringing it to her lips in a cool kiss.  “Thank you,” she said before pulling him down to kiss him. They were virtually alone, Katniss’ mother having returned to her home with Rosa while Gale was sprawled out on a sofa, snoring lightly. The restaurant would soon close and the last few customers were saying their good-byes. 

Indicating with his head, he said “He takes care of you, doesn’t he?”

Katniss nodded.  “He take care of us when papa’ die.  Our papa' die at same time.  He is my soul-brother.  Do you say this in English?  Fratello d’anima?”

“Not exactly the same way but something similar.  Only not for brothers and sisters but for lovers.  Soul mates. Like you are my soul mate.”

Katniss’ became emotional at this and kissed him again, this time with an undercurrent of heat.  “Take me away.  I want go with you.”

Peeta swallowed hard, his need for her straining against the awful boundary of his clothes.

In moments, he’d ordered a taxi and stuffed a tired Gale into the front seat of the taxi, where he promptly fell asleep again, the spumanti having had its magical effect on him as well.  It was a bear to get him up the stairs, as his large frame was thickly muscled and weighed much more than it appeared but they managed to get him into his house and on his bed before Katniss gave him a tender kiss on his forehead.  This endeared both of them to Peeta even more, when he considered the way in which his own brother had demonstrated his devotion to him.

They slipped quietly into Katniss’ home next, where she packed a hasty bag, leaving a note for her mother that she would see her the next evening (she hoped her mother infer that she had left their home in the early morning and not that she was actually spending the night with Peeta).   Then they ran outside like two children into the waiting taxi that would take them to the hotel.

The prospect of finally having Katniss to himself made his desire for her multiply and he soon couldn’t keep his hands off of her.  He tried to be discreet, for the taxi driver’s sake but his hands had a mind of their own, running along her legs, exposed by the sensible black skirt while his mouth spilled kisses onto her neck, dipping into the valley of her breasts revealed by the open buttons of her white work shirt.  His attempts at restraint failed as his fingers ran along the inside of her thigh until he was met with the flimsy material of her underwear. She was wet for him already and he shifted the material to dip into her moist center, she moaned against his lips, the lips she was ravishing with a hunger so primal, they might as well have been alone.

Peeta sheepishly paid the driver his fare, a knowing smile dancing on the lips of the older Italian man, before pulling Katniss into the hotel, stopping only to pick up the old-fashioned key from the front desk.  Luckily, there were few guests because of the hour of the morning and as soon as the elevator doors closed, they were upon each other again.  Peeta’s hands were under her skirt, kneading the firm contours of her round bottom, grinding into her until the front of his pants was wet with her desire while Katniss hands had undone the buttons of his shirt, her hands fanning across the expanse of his broad chest.  Her lips travelled his collarbone and soon, she was worrying his nipples as he had done, making his knees buckle from the sensation. When the elevator stopped, he pulled her along, laughing as he fumbled with the key, cursing the door for not opening quickly enough for him. 

Once inside, he threw the key to the ground, along with the rest of his clothes.  The desire to rip the buttons of her shirt was so strong, she hurried to save it from his ravages by unbuttoning it herself.  Soon his hands were upon her again, pushing the skirt and underwear off of her hips, watching them pool at her feet.  He kissed her furiously, unfastening her bra and casting it away and pushed her up against the wall, devouring her lips until they were raw. 

Peeta ran his tongue over the skin of her neck, causing her to moan.  She mumbled incomprehensibly as he took her small but perfectly rounded breasts in his hands and ran his thumb over the turgid peaks.  Soon his mouth was on them and she called out his name, pushing herself into him.  As he lavished his attention on them, his hand ran the expanse of her body until his fingers had found her center.  He played gently with her folds until he found that bundle of nerves, making her hips buck into his hand.

He brought his mouth up to her ears and whispered the phrase he had practiced so many times as he rubbed her, causing her back to arch off of the wall.  “Sei cosi’ exquisita.  Voglio farti l’amore finche’ rimani senza fiato. < _You are so exquisite. I want to make love to you until you are breathless_. >”

Her grey eyes flew open, so dark with desire they seemed almost black. “Peeta…you speak…so perfect…” she moaned as he felt her desire building, felt her grind against his hand, mewling when he slipped two fingers inside of her and pumped in time with the pressure he placed on her now swollen clit.  He took a nipple in his mouth and bit down gently, making her explode over his hands, her legs almost giving out under the force of her orgasm. 

As she came down from her high, he tore through the pockets of his slacks and pulling out the foil buried in his wallet.  Ripping it open, he sheathed himself before wrapping his arms around her small waist and lifting her off the ground. He reached down to feel her moist heat and, position himself at her entrance, a gasp exploding from her lips as he pushed past her folds, burying himself with all the desperation and longing he’d felt these last few weeks and driving into her furiously. She was soft and warm in his arms from her orgasm and wet, so wet it made him want to lap her up but the feel of his cock inside of her was the closest thing to perfection.

Peeta thrilled at watching her small breasts bounce in time with grey pearl.  He walked her slowly to the bed and laid her down carefully, ravaging her lips before resuming his rhythm.  He brought her beautiful, shapely legs up over his shoulders and pushed them back until he was holding down her firm thighs, driving into her and reveling in seeing her so open to him, like the rare flower that she was.  He closed her legs until her knees were on her chest, her delicate ankles resting on his shoulder, the angle of penetration changing again as he enjoyed the view of her perfectly rounded bottom.  He kissed her calf, her knees, the skin like silk against his lips. 

When he was close, he gently allowed her legs to fall open and he settled himself between her legs, kissing her again, her firm body writhing against his.  Very soon, Katniss would always be his and in that moment, he felt an incredible tenderness towards her, his love for her blossoming out of all the secret places of his heart.  He held her head and kissed her gently, running his knuckles along the sides of her face.  She opened her eyes and looked into his searchingly yet unflinchingly.  As he moved inside of her, she pulled him down to kiss him, plundering his mouth.  When she released him, she whispered “Ti amo, Peeta.  I love you and I’m so happy you come back for me.”  Here, a small tear escaped her stormy eyes which he captured with his lips.

“Ti amo anch’io.” He said against her ear, his rhythm increasing as he felt the coil in his belly unravel, and his own explosion took over him, the world falling away until he was spent.  Rolling carefully off of her, he sank onto his side, in incredible weariness taking over him.  He pulled her close to him and felt himself begin to drift off to sleep.   Before he lost consciousness altogether, he chuckled into her hair.  “Merry Christmas, Katniss.”  Her tired laughter was the last sound her heard as he sank into the folds of slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Due Respiri" by Chiara.


	5. Epilogo: 5 anni dopo (Epilogue: 5 years later)

Peeta couldn’t be still.  He had been shown where he could clean himself and put on the scrubs in the room adjacent to Katniss’ but as he tried to dress, his hands shook uncontrollably.  He’d insisted on being here with her even though her mother had looked at him like he’d put snails in his hair – she’d lived in Italy long enough to take on the more archaic characteristics of the typical Italian mother.  It was bad enough he cooked better than Katniss – she was not particularly fond of the kitchen – and he worked out of the studio in his home while Katniss was the one who actually left the house each day to teach Italian at a local private school.  Now, he wanted to invade the most sacred of womanly places.  She just shook her head sternly as he returned to the birthing room, having somehow managed to dress himself. 

Katniss, who was panting and squirming, grabbed his hands in a vice-like grip.  “Non mi lasciare! Don’t leave me!”  She begged, the pain in her eyes breaking his heart.  He would give anything to take her place at that moment.  Rosa brought a bowl of ice chips, setting it on the table next to her.  “Tutto a posto. < _Everything’s okay_. >” She said to her sister as she gave her a chip.  Rosa gave Peeta  a devilish look – of everyone in the family, Prim, as he’d nicknamed Rosa because her full name was Primarosa and there was no way he was carrying that mouthful around -  was probably the most insanely excited about this baby.  She’d just begun an internship at the University Hospital - with some help from Finnick, who made sure she’d taken all the right tests to qualify to study and work in the US – and lived with Peeta and Katniss.

As Katniss began her breathing exercises, Peeta thought of the last five years.  When he’d proposed to her the day after Christmas that year, he wasted no time in officially marrying her in the small courthouse in her city, though they had the ceremony and reception six months later.  He immediately filed for all of her legal documents and brought her home with him.  It was hard going in the beginning as she got used to the city, the language, the loneliness of being without her family.  Peeta bought Prim a laptop and they were constantly speaking on Skype, which made things so much better for Katniss.  It also helped that there was a very articulated Italian community in the city so she was able to find company in the many different social events that took place. 

There were a few things her learned about Katniss over the years.

 _She’s obstinate_.  When she got something into her head, she did not let it go of it until she was fully convinced that she was wrong which, in her mind, was not often.

 _She’s independent_.  She would not suffer staying home without being productive.  With Annie’s help, she looked up study programs, first for English and then to get her teaching certificate and within three years, she had earned the credentials necessary to teach Italian and World History in a private school, where teaching requirements were less stringent.  Turns out she had already gotten half-way through her college studies in Italy before dropping out to take care of her family full-time.

 _She loves her family above everything else_.  Peeta was happy to be included in this list.  She made sure that her sister was cared for and arranged to have her stay with her as soon as it was realistic.  She had a cooler relationship with her mother, who had fallen into a deep depression when her father died and essentially abandoned the girls to their own resources.  When Gale injured himself seriously at work last year, she was by his side during his surgery and convalescence, inconsolable when she thought he might be permanently handicapped by his injuries.

 _She loves baked goods and fresh pasta_.  She was careful with her diet and exercised religiously but with her pregnancy, if you set a bowl of cheese buns in front of her, it was safer to step back and let it unfold because if you got involved, you were going to get hurt.

 _She doesn't make friends easily but when she does, they become her friends for life_.  It took her time to warm up to Annie and Rue but once she overcame her shyness about the language barrier, they were always together.  Which meant Peeta was always with Finnick and Thresh, which was just fine by him.  

 _She does not like his mother.  At. All_.  This was not a surprise as his mother was largely unlikeable.  At first, Katniss tried to understand her position – he’d gone off and brought home this strange girl that no one knew and was married to her to boot.  She’d tried to be sweet to her, to bake for her, even sat with her during her surgery but there was nothing for it.  His mother had decided that Katniss was an opportunist and Katniss in turn stopped making anymore overtures towards her. 

The pain of Katniss’ fingers digging into his palm brought Peeta back to the present, a contraction overtaking her body as she moaned in pain.  She’d screamed with the first contraction but the nurses told her to be calm because screaming would only make the pain worse, which was a relief for Peeta because he thought he was going to be ill when he saw how raw her pain had become. 

The contractions had begun around 7 that morning.  Katniss calmly washed herself and got dressed, than let Peeta, her mother and Prim know that they should get ready because it was time.   She leaned against both women and paced the corridor quietly with the overnight bag in place while he’d forgotten where he kept everything he owned.  He was having heart palpitations as he led her to the taxi and prayed that they wouldn't crash as they drove the short distance to the hospital.  When they made it to the examination room, there was an explosion of activity when it was revealed that Katniss was very dilated, so much so that they would not be able to give her an epidural and they were all whisked off into the birthing room.

Now, Peeta ran a wet towel over Katniss' sweaty forehead and kissed her hand, trying to find little ways to comfort her.  Her mother went to refresh the bowl of water. Katniss looked up at him, smiling weakly. 

“Hey.” She whispered.

“Hey.” He answered, taking her hand and holding it close to him.

“Just a little bit more.” She chuckled before her face crumpled in pain again.

“I’m sorry it hurts.” He said sadly.

She shook her head.  “It didn’t hurt to get here.” She tried to smile but it was lost as she tried not to push through the contraction.

“Alright, we’re ready!” exclaimed the nurse.  “Honey, when the next contraction comes, I need you to push as hard as you can, okay.”

Katniss nodded her head quickly.  As the wave crashed over her, she took a deep breath and pushed until she turned purple, squeezing Peeta’s hand on one side and her mother’s on the other.  When the contraction passed, she moaned in pain.

“Andra’ tutto bene, figlia mia. < _Everything will be fine, my daughter_. >” Her mother whispered.

It continued in this way for another hour, her pushing mixed with her moans and whimpers of pain, the tears pouring down her face.  Peeta felt light-headed, having never witnessed so much agony but he forced himself to be strong for this girl who’d gone through so much for her family, for him and now for their child.

“The baby is crowning.  I need to you give this next one all you’ve got, okay baby?” said the nurse.  Soon, Katniss was pushing with all her strength, the nurses on each side of her belly pushing down on it and then there it was, the sound of something being released, the fluid, the wailing.  The nurse grabbed Peeta’s hand and handed him a strange pair of scissors.  “Cut the cord, daddy.” She said.  He swallowed hard as he cut through the remarkably tough cord, trying not to look around too much.  The baby was hastily cleaned and wrapped before she was place on her mother’s chest.

“It’s a girl!” beamed the nurse, wiping blood and effluvium from her hands.

Peeta became blinded by his tears and wiped them with the back of his hand.  “Look, Katniss, look what we made.” He said as he studied the little baby, her head covered in a shock of dark brown hair.  When her eyes opened, he saw the most remarkable blue eyes he had ever seen.  Katniss’ mom peered over and gasped at the eyes.  “You…eyes…” she said haltingly, pointing at Peeta and giving him a kiss directly on his cheek. “Bellisima!” she cried before going to fetch Prim, much to the chagrin of the nurse. 

But Katniss didn’t hear any of it.  She had eyes only for her little girl and for the wonderful man with whom she had been privileged to bind her life to.  She brought Peeta’s hand to her now wet cheek.  “E’ perfetta, vero? < _She’s perfect, isn’t she?_ >”

Peeta bent to kiss his wife.  “Vero.  Come tu. < _Yes.  Just like you_. >”

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to Solasvioletta for her unwavering support and heard work as beta. Thank you Tiffodair and Marquis des Agnes for reading and commenting on this fic. I appreciate all of you!


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